


The Inquisition of the Master Craftsman

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Armitage Hux Lives, Awkward Flirting, Dungeon, Gingerpilot, Inquisitor!Hux, Inquistion AU, M/M, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Prisoner Poe Dameron, Spy!PoeDameron, Virgin Armitage Hux
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22465897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The aura of hope and mystery that had arisen around the strange machine was like something out of the realm of the imaginary, by novelty and incredulity it drew large crowds among the desperate and foolhardy, willing to risk prosecution to see whether their own minds might be cured of human frailty, in all of its forms.
Relationships: Poe Dameron & Armitage Hux, Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Kudos: 8





	The Inquisition of the Master Craftsman

Poe slipped through the doorway, following behind a man in a long black cloak. Like his own, the stranger’s face was obscured by technology which blurred the vision of anyone who tries to look directly at his countenance. A sharp white light met his gaze painfully the first time he had made such an attempt, as if he had been trying to scrutinize the surface of a blazing sun.

Echoing chanting met Dameron’s ears, eerily reverberating through the towering vaulted ceiling like a funeral dirge. He passed through several iridescent gates with a tingling sensation like static passing over his skin, making an effort to breathe while he paced onward with a mounting dread. Yet the adrenaline which coursed through his veins was enough to sustain him until he reached the main hall which housed the elaborate machinery which ‘disciples’ came from near and far to behold – indeed it was wondrous to behold, this centerpiece by the Master Craftsman.

Visitors were struck by the imposing chamber engraved with life-like figures in various postures of exaggerated feeling, as though a collector of human emotions had gathered there a kaleidoscopic display, contorted it and then trapped it within the intricate metallic walls which seemed to pulsate like liquid. Not all of the beings depicted were human, Poe observed, other sentient species were to be found, bearing equally disturbing visages. An impulse in him caused him to turn away and look about at the robed figures who silently arranged themselves in a row, awaiting their turn before the mechanical deity while attendants bowed low and helped them onto the platform.

As he watched these acts of reverence, Dameron felt the danger of his situation, more than that of an idle trespasser - a possible enemy – for his mission was to seek out what truth there was in the rumors of the cult-like following the Craftsman had gathered about him, and then, disappeared into obscurity. 

A part of him still wavered in his resolve to do what he had been sent to do. The aura of hope and mystery that had arisen around the strange machine was like something out of the realm of the imaginary, by novelty and incredulity it drew large crowds among the desperate and foolhardy, willing to risk prosecution to see whether their own minds might be cured of human frailty, in all of its forms. He had heard that a war chief from a distant galaxy had sent his entire army to undergo such a ‘cure’, so that no weakness or distraction would fester in their mind when they went to do his bidding on the battlefields of land and sky. Others said that over-sensitive pedants and lonely housewives would line the footsteps of the temple, for the Master Craftsman’s work was accessible to the most humble among men for the lowest of purposes – and so it seemed that it was with a certain indifference that he set the machine out into the world, to cater to the whims of men, and to banish those whims.

Poe’s hand reached out to the device that masked his identity, as if to reassure himself before stepping closer down the long corridor which led to a large capsule of energy suspended upon an ornamented platform of silver from above and below, giving the impression of an oversized chandelier.

The energy moved in serpent-like strands, coiling around themselves in perpetual motion.

He continued to watch from the sidelines as a cloaked figure joined the line, awaiting his turn before two gauntlet hands and a mask. The man bowed before these objects and the gauntlets began to hover closer to the figure’s forehead, making a scan of the brain with glowing pale blue strands of light issuing from the hooked fingers.

As the chanting grew more vehement, the stranger rose suddenly from the ground like a marionette and floated several meters into the air over the somber multitude. The glass seemed to make way as the figure was pulled into the core of light with a soft buzzing sound, like that of a hive of bees, enlivened with anticipation. Poe beheld a similar process take place, with a similarly disguised personage, again and again, watching as they seemed to disintegrate one by one within the machine. Yet this was not the case, perhaps, as he would later find a similarly dressed stranger among those who chanted in gratitude and devotion. He did not know what to believe.

The night drew on and before long the assembly would be disbanded, he had waited until there were few devotees there in case some were willing to put up a fight. At the same time, he hoped that he was not drawing attention, and suspicion, towards himself by lingering too long without paying his respects or seeking the machine’s favors. Poe noticed that there was another who waited in one of the alcoves, seated on stiffly a bench watching with something of expectation in his posture. He wondered if he was some kind of sentinel, or like himself, a curious heretic wavering on conversion.

Occasionally Dameron had felt that the man was looking straight at him but he could not be certain because of the pain he felt in his temple whenever he tried to gaze past the mask-like barrier between them. There was little to distinguish him from the others who had come to the strange temple other than that he kept apart.

Poe decided he would take a chance.

“I venture to presume that you are visiting for the first time, sir,” said Poe with an over-polite and knowing tone as he seated himself on the cold stone bench beside the other.

“Your presumption is incorrect,” said a voice, strange and metallic -- certainly inhuman, or else disguised. “I likewise wonder at your purpose. It has been three hours and you have neither left this hall nor approached the machine.”

“I’m just here to look,” he answered blithely.

“As am I,” said the stranger. “Are you enjoying the show?”

“I cannot quite make out what I am looking at,” he said vaguely but truthfully.

“You may stay here many hours more and come no closer to a discovery”

“Is that so?”

“If I were you, I would observe those who leave the hall, rather than those who enter”

“Are you kicking me out then?”

“Do you further presume _that_ is my authority?”

“It crossed my mind, yes,” Poe smirked, then remembering that the other could not see his expression. “If it is not, I hope that I am not interrupting your...meditations”

“Meditation is unnecessary, for no disturbing or unwelcome thoughts enter the minds of those who undergo the treatment of the Master Craftsman’s device”

“And have you had the pleasure to, sir?”

“No”

“May I ask wh—“

“That would be impertinence”

“I am an impertinent man”

“You have other qualities besides, some that you mistake for courage," he folded his black gloved hands over his lap and turned his neck to look at him, “of course, you had always been so – all those years ago. Reckless.”

“Have we met before? C-can you see me?” Poe felt slightly ill at ease, wondering if the man was trying to unnerve him on purpose, having grown annoyed with the prying banter.

“Yes, I can see you perfectly, Poe Dameron of the Resistance,” he could imagine the man smiling haughtily as he leaned closer, a hand reaching out towards him. 

“How very perceptive of you,” Poe grabbed his wrist before the other’s fingertips could touch him and held it firmly. The stranger made no sign of pulling away which made him unsure of what the man had wanted to do to him.

“Are we still debating a course of action?” the man spoke to him with something of condescension, “I suggest that you make up your mind soon”

Before Poe could further contemplate in which direction his resolve waivered, a deafening siren rang out shrilly and armed soldier stormed through the corridors. Some were taken down by the defense mechanisms which protected the hall from those with malevolent intent, and Poe was then acutely grateful for his moral indecision which apparently sufficed to save him from a similar fate. He ran past the heaps of half-incinerated armor, searching for a way out. The main exit was sealed shut and he did not know the layout of the temple. His eyes caught upon the figure of the man he had been talking to – he seemed to be gesturing for Poe to follow.

Cries rang out all about him and there was little time to deliberate. Dameron decided to risk it, running after the stranger who led him in silence through the dark unfamiliar labyrinth of passageways, clearly designed to elude pursuers during such mayhem. He wondered what happened to those unfamiliar with the way, if they would simply wander there until starvation overtook them. Poe tried to keep pace, not taking his eyes off the long flowing cloak of the man who led him, a gut feeling telling him that he certainly took a chance in trusting him – trust was not exactly the right word. It felt as if he had flipped a coin to choose the lesser of two evils, and was not entirely confident in the outcome. Breathlessly, they reached a dim roughly hewed tunnel after struggling to remove a rusted metal grate. After crouching low and twisting their bodies to pass through, what greeted them was complete darkness and a rancid smell of decay.

Poe began to feel more ill at ease as he continued to follow through the pitch black tunnel, craning his neck and feeling about the wet surface of the walls confining him in the claustrophobic space. He listened to the footsteps of the other, which threatened to leave him behind. The man seemed to know where he was going at least and that was the only relief he could comfort himself with. In the distance they could see a light and continued towards it until they saw another barrier glistening iridescently.

When at last they reached the screen panel, they were relieved to find that the hall was deserted, nevertheless, Poe stood on watch as the stranger examined the panel carefully, searching for any traps or defenses surrounding it. He found none, yet this did little to soothe their foreboding, the case perhaps being that they were beyond his prowess to detect. Poe was reluctant to make the first attempt, which the stranger seemed to be gesturing him to do, but at last acquiesced, convinced by the danger of continuing to hide there for he could hear the sound of many footsteps approaching them. He took out his toolset and tried to disable the locking mechanism, but as soon as he began to tamper with it he sensed the tell-tale signs that it had not gone well. With no time to waste, he watched as the other stretch his hand towards the shield. It seemed to disintegrate at contact, but the hand which had touched it was left bleeding and scorched, with the remnants of some kind of mechanical fibers interlaced into the glove – certainly beyond repair. Nevertheless, they were able to pass through.

Poe wondered what would have happened if he had let the stranger touch him when they were sitting in the alcove – whether he was going to kill him with whatever that device hidden in his glove had been. There was no time to think about it however. They were out in the open in some kind of alleyway, but there they did not pause to breathe in the cool night air and enjoy a sigh of relief – soldiers were swift to surround them as if they had been expected. What followed passed quickly; Poe was shoved into a prison compartment of a vehicle, one among many resembling a mobile armored kennel. He had struggled with all his might but was ultimately overwhelmed by his armed attackers, giving up the fight when he realized that they would shoot him dead if he persisted further.

What puzzled him was to see that his companion had received a more ceremonious treatment, and it dawned on him at once that he had been betrayed, led to his demise. The next time that he saw the man was during the interrogation, where he was able to mark him out by his injured hand among two other dark robed figures.

The stranger tried to meet his glare of contempt with cool indifference, yet Poe could see that this he did not exactly manage, for his fingers trembled as he placed some kind of collar around the prisoner’s neck. Dameron was questioned as to the purpose of his entering the great hall of the machine, yet was not suffered to answer as he chose, his will fighting against the device which intruded upon his thoughts. Even his ambivalence was determined to weigh against him, making him out to be a person of weak morals, something he protested in vain.

The inquisitor condescended to explain to him the mercy that the machine offered in removing those memories and thoughts that are most painful and oppressive, customizing those that remained to a mold that best fitted his character and disposition, helping him reach an inner balance only attained by the most enlightened of mortal men.

It was unpleasant for Poe to imagine that someone would be tampering with his mind and warping his perceptions, wondering how much of his own nature would remain if he allowed himself to be subjected to such a fate. Of course, what choice would he have if he was unable to affect an escape.

His opportunity came only after several weeks of imprisonment when he was visited by the figure from the cathedral-like hall. By the questions which the stranger asked him, it was clear that he knew him, and yet, was far removed from the world which he had once been a part of. Poe answered him with caution, wishing at the same time to appear cooperative. These visits continued for some time and occasionally the other brought him food to supplement his meager repasts of stale bread and water, possibly to sustain his mental faculties. Overall he found the man’s behavior strange in the unbreakable aloofness of his words, and even stranger intimacies.

On certain occasions, before making his departure, the man would do such things as remove his glove and touch Poe’s hair or his lips in complete silence, ignoring any questions or jokes from his prisoner. If ever Poe recoiled from him, he would get up and depart, and neither would make reference to the encounter on the subsequent visit. Dameron did not know what to make of this modest enough flirtation, certain that whatever half-suppressed urges the man had might be used to his advantage to get him out of the cell, or so he hoped.

The hours between these visits passed slowly and he grew restless from being confined in the dark abysmal chamber somewhere below the ground. He had no idea where he had been taken to and there was no way to communicate his whereabouts to anyone who was a sincere ally. His only hopes lay in persuading the other to aid him and this he would endeavour to do by discovering his identity.

There were times when he considered overpowering and removing his disguise by force, but by doing so he risked not only alienating his only source of human interaction, but perhaps expediting the execution which surely loomed not far in his future. As the days wore on, his situation began to appear more dire and hopeless, and he wondered if the stranger had gotten all that he had come for.

It was a fortnight before he returned again to the cell, this time bearing news of the tribunal’s verdict upon him. While Poe had expected no favorable outcome it nevertheless affected him to know with certainty that his days were numbered. He waited for the other to say something more but no words came and at last he turned to leave. Before he could do so, Poe struck him with the empty stone water dish, using what strength he had left to render the man unconscious and binding his arms behind his back with a strip of cloth torn from his robe.

He regretted having to use such means but he felt that he had little choice left if he wished to preserve his life. Although he had little time to waste, he could not leave without knowing the identity of the stranger who had taken such an interest in him. Carefully, he staunched the blood at his temple with a piece of fabric and then felt for the contours of a gelatinous film which he pulled off like a mask.

The face, in the semblance of sleep, was one which he recognized all too well, belonging to one whom nearly all had presumed dead. If it had not been for the resurfacing of certain weapons designs in the black market, telling of the maker’s skill, perhaps Armitage Hux would have been permitted to remain in relative obscurity. He wondered if Hux was the elusive Master Craftsman, but this he later learned, was not the case – or not entirely.

Poe told himself that he had suspected the stranger’s identity from the beginning, but the man had few distinguishing marks visible through his disguise and had to begrudgingly dismiss it as fanciful thinking. He debated whether he ought to abandon Hux there or take him away for interrogations of his own, deciding upon the latter at the sound of approaching footsteps.

He crept close to the walls, dragging the other after him, wondering if there would be a point at which he would have to leave him or else risk capture. Poe searched about his person for something resembling a key, and this he found in the form of a thin glass card tied to a silver chain. It granted him passage into another network of dark subterranean corridors. Along the way he had to take down two guards, grateful for the weapon which he had stolen from Hux, before at last he reached the exterior of the tower keep.

It daunted him to behold that they were on an island surrounded by violent waves crashing against a towering cliffside. Poe watched from the gatehouse for any sign of a means of escape but he could see none, the desolate gray sky and the tumultuous sea offering little comfort.

Suddenly, he felt a movement as the unconscious figure which he had been carrying returned to wakefulness, realizing at once his situation. Poe managed to overpower him and make him complacent by threat and by force, seeing these as the only means to which the other would be convinced to aid him. Shooting him in the leg, he made the other his dependent, rendering it difficult for Hux to make an escape by way of stealth or speed.

With much bitterness and morose silence, they spent the rest of the day in hiding within one of the caverns overlooking the sea, scaled at great peril to their lives yet safe from the detection of the regular patrols which made their rounds every hour. Poe would occasionally see lithe ships travelling to the island, delivering prisoners and supplies most likely. Upon the capture of one of these he would set his hopes. He wondered what the Inquisitors would do once they discovered Hux’s absence, dreading the outcome.

“So how long have you been with your new friends Armitage – can I call you Armitage? We have sure gotten a lot closer since your First Order days,” Poe manoeuvred him into a reclining position as he tried to treat the leg wound he had inflicted earlier, feeling that he was equipped to do little for him, and not too regretful of the fact.

Hux’s face burned at the insinuation.

“It’s alright, I won’t tell anyone you’ve taken a liking to me – how could you have resisted my charms,” he finished tying the bandages and gave the leg a hearty pat before sitting down cross-legged next to his victim. Hux winced.

“Say something, I can’t stand you scowling at me all night,” then, on a whim, he began to stroke Hux’s hair as the man had done with him in the cell.

“Don’t touch me,” hissed Armitage, hardly able to pull away.

“I thought you would like it, you seemed to earlier,” he withdrew his hand, “I admit I can’t understand you. But those things aside, we need to get out of here – and soon”

“What do you mean by _we_?” Hux’s superior expression returned to him, “It is you who they are after”

“And you’re the damsel in distress, yes yes I know,” he sighed exaggeratedly, “but it’s not like I’m going to leave you behind.”

“So you are going to ransom me for your safety?”

“Now there’s an idea, do you think they’d care that much for you? Can they be trusted to keep their end of the bargain,” he did not expect a helpful reply to any of these questions but was glad that the other was talking at least. “Actually, I just hoped to ask you some questions – lots of questions. Like why you are selling off your designs now, after three years, to any buyer willing to pay the price”

“What reason would I have to answer such feeble interrogations,” scoffed Hux, “And if you think torture will –“

“I’m not going to torture it out of you, sometimes the opposite can be quite as effective,” he leaned down and kissed Hux upon the lips, holding his face still with his hand upon the other’s cheek. At first Hux tried to turn away, perhaps from pride or modesty, but at last succumbed all too gladly, Poe observed, the kiss lasting longer than he had originally planned as something that was meant as a bit of a joke, he felt Armitage relaxing into it, looking both surprised and embarrassed when Poe finally pulled away.

“What do I get for that?” Poe smiled down at him, pleased to see him flustered.

“Do you usually whore yourself about for information?” Hux said after a pause, visibly breathless.

“No, only for vicious ginger bastards that are almost certainly touch-starved virgins eager for a morsel of affection,” he said in a teasing voice, ruffling Hux’s hair with a mocking playfulness, “don’t even try to deny it Hux,” Poe wiggled his eyebrows at something, making Hux shift his legs in embarrassment, but it was too late to hide the effects of the kiss.

“It will not be long before you are torn limb from limb, the pain which you shall experience will be like nothing you –“

“Yes, yes, but in the meantime we are going to spend some quality time together aren’t we Hux,” Poe began to unbutton the high collar of the man’s tunic. 

“What are you doing?”

“Making you comfortable, it’s time we got some rest,” he made a pillow of the other’s cloak which they shared between them.

“Will you allow me the use of my arms then?”

“I don’t have a good feeling about the uses you will put them to if I did,” said Poe, vaguely imaging a strangling attempt, “along those lines, I will probably have to bind your legs too, just for the night though, don’t worry”

“I thought you said you were making me ‘comfortable’,” he said with annoyance, feeling like a hunted animal.

“Sorry but your reputation does not make you a good bedfellow, scream if your leg goes numb or something like that. Hopefully I’ll hear you through the wind and the raging sea,” grinned Poe. “Don’t worry, I’m a light sleeper”

Hux cursed him and after a time closed his eyes in something like despair, curling up on the cold ground of the cavern.

“It’s not all bad,” Poe startled him as he unexpectedly tried to move him over onto his other side in an awkward spooning position, with Hux’s hands pressing against him behind his back, “Okay maybe not”, he turned him over again so they were facing each other. “That glare really suits you, but do try and get some sleep”

In the days that followed, much time was spent in getting the former general to speak, something he was frustratingly obstinate to avoid, believing that it was only a matter of time before he was liberated. Yet when this rescue failed to materialized, cold, hunger and privation, as well as the equally determined nature of his captor prevailed upon him to reveal the existence of a remarkable construction – a bridge invisible to the eye which crossed the sea to a neighboring landmass, the location of a developing trading port.

They waited until nightfall to follow the invisible path unobserved. Poe was only partially reassured by the feeling of something solid underfoot, rocked to and fro by the forceful winds which billowed as with the wrath of a fitful deity. Clutching at the banister, Poe was able to steady himself and hold on for his life as a towering wave threatened to engulf them and drag them into the sea. After a hike of many miles they reached the landmass, setting foot upon a trial which stretched around a lake to a remote spot which had come to be the meeting place of the Inquisitors, disguising in various ways the footpath which they had made with thick trees, leading to a clearing. There they would conceal vast chests of weapons and other technologies which were heavily regulated in the realm, buried under a mound of earth that would rise at the given password. However, Poe had little use for bounty at the time and he sensed from the other’s disappointment that he had avoided a trap thereby as he shoved him onward from the clearing towards the town over the hillside. By then he had gotten used to Armitage's repertoire of insults. 


End file.
